


Twin Wane

by pokerharem



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokerharem/pseuds/pokerharem
Summary: Because one of us is too selfless.For Dimiclaude Week Day 4: Scars/Healing
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 156





	Twin Wane

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration: <https://twitter.com/otomeprotag/status/1214770841050927105>

Dimitri is missing.

It had been three hours since they completed the last mission. What should have been a simple routing of bandits turned chaotic when said bandits revealed a connection to an imperial general. Suddenly, driving them out had been less important than taking hostages, but this abrupt shift in plans had caused confusion, many soldiers losing formation and acting on their own. It was a tactical nightmare, and while Claude always prepared for these worse case scenarios, that didn't mitigate the aftermath.

The initial plan would have seen even the enemies live. The scene when the battle finished was lined with cadavers.

Head counts had been taken, roster double checked. While there had been a slow trickle in of warriors as they made their way back, one very, _very_ important figure had yet to return.

A search party had been deployed two hours ago. Claude debates sending out another as he trudges towards Garreg Mach's war room. Though everything he does these days requires urgency, he's slow in his pace, hands balled behind his back as he peers through the windows. The rain is getting stronger.

Dimitri might be dead. Claude's been trying all this time to steel himself for that terrible news, but he can't stand the thought of seeing his lifeless body, a vessel for great potential, no matter how much he tries. Dimitri might have also left, or gotten so disoriented that he couldn't find his way back. Claude has seen enough of his torment to know this is an option, to know all is not as it should be in his mind. He'd done his best to help, done his best to accommodate. Relieve. Understand what plagues him.

He'd thought he'd been making headway. He'd thought he'd been sealing his cracks, helping him cope.

Maybe he hadn't been. Maybe it's no use.

And that's when his eyes spot a blue cloak and an orange glow at the edge of the monastery grounds.

Claude doesn't let himself think as he turns and bolts the way he came. He barrels through the halls, almost knocks people over, ignores the the bewildered stares and the calls of his name. He races through the rain, jumps a fence and yes, that light was from Areadbahr. Dimitri's blond head is bowed low as he uses the lance like a walking stick. Rain pelts his back as he stoops. Thanks to his posture, Claude can see why his pace is so slow.

There's at least five spears skewering his back. Claude's already frantic heart sprints faster.

When he reaches him, he grabs a fistful of soaked, black fur. Even slouched, Dimitri is taller, and Claude peers up in the fading light to try and see his face.

"There you are…!" Claude finds himself saying as his other hand tries to push away Dimitri's bangs. "Where were you?! No, wait, questions later. We need to get you inside and treated, come on!" He tries to tug the king forward, and isn't surprised when all he gets is a half-hearted step for his effort. Instead of trying again, Claude gets closer once more. He tries to read Dimitri's expression.

It's dead. There is no life in that pale blue iris. He's staring at the ground, staring at things far, far away. Something compels Claude to slide his palm up to cup his pallid face. He says nothing, only waits for Dimitri to realize he's here. His thumb runs across a high cheekbone. Not too long after, cracked lips move. A hoarse voice whispers:

"Claude…"

The Alliance Leader wouldn't call what he feels at hearing his name relief, but it's close enough. Intense pity moves him to crane his neck, get closer.

"Dimitri."

Were he any further away, he might have missed the twitch that goes through the king's features. Were he any further away, he might not have seen the small, faint flicker of feeling in his eye.

The divine weapon clatters to the ground as Dimitri crumples onto him. Claude staggers and steadies himself as best he can, bearing the weight and returning the tight embrace he's now locked in. Whether Dimitri shivers from the cold or something else, he can't say.

\---

Everything's frantic now that Dimitri has been found. They'd wanted to rid him of his wet things, gain access to his wounds and remove the weapons embedded in his back, but this proved difficult when the man refused to release his grip on Claude. It had taken Claude whispering assurances to him, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck, before he pulled away. Still, Dimitri's eye never left the other, and he could only be pried just far enough away to get off his armor and slice off his shirt before he was back on him again. Claude refused to mind, even if holding him made it hard to move. Even if holding him meant getting blood on his palms.

Things were easier when they finally reached the medical area. A portion of an offshoot building had been converted into a place for treatment when it became clear Manuela's office was far too small for the needs of an army. Claude sat on a cot. Dimitri straddled him like a large blanket, face tucked into his shoulder as they fixed him. Weapons were jerked out then healed fast, and for the most part, Dimitri's only reactions were quick tenses that subsided into heavy breathing.

Unsure what to do, Claude had kept talking to him. He spoke soft, spoke to soothe, words pressed into his skin as his fingertips wove through the damp locks plastered to his neck. He couldn't tell if he was helping, but Dimitri never let go. Even after they'd finished, he stayed.

Claude's mind wanders yet remains focused on the man in his arms. He's long dried, though he wonders if the other isn't at least a little chilly from being shirtless. Dimitri isn't asleep, he's far too tense for that, and somewhere along the line, he stopped putting all of his weight on Claude. The onlookers have dispersed, leaving them practically alone in the room. For all intents, if Dimitri was fine, he should leave and let him rest.

But he doesn't. They sit with each other, Claude tracing circles into a newly mended back while Dimitri grips his shirt like a lifeline. Claude feels the need to speak, yet doesn't. Whatever is between them feels fragile.

It's Dimitri who breaks the silence.

"... How much more…"

His voice is a low rumble, rolling thunder that echoes in both their bodies. Claude's hand stills and he waits. He waits for a continuation, clarification, but when he gets none, he asks:

"How much more… what?"

There's more silence, enough to choke. Dimitri's breathing is deep, pressing into the palms of Claude's hands. Then, one large inhale is taken. The exhale shudders. Claude can feel a continued tremor in the king's skin.

"... How much more until it ends…?"

Those words answer all his unsaid questions. Claude's lips pull into a sharp frown, brow furrowing deep as the pads of his fingers push against Dimitri. 

_How much more._ Claude's asked himself that more times than he can count. How much more blood needs to be shed? How many more battles do they need to fight? How many more faces will he see the light leave, taken by his own hand in the name of "survival"? They'd been fighting and fighting with a goal in mind, but the way towards it is lined with corpses.

And, Claude thinks, how much more complacent will he become? How much will he think "it doesn't get any easier" only to know that it is easier for him? It's easier for him, who's killed at a young age, who's fought to live even if it means others must die. Will he ever get to a point where it becomes so easy that he forgets his preference for peaceful solutions? Will he become a monster?

The shifting of the body he holds pulls him away from that line of thought. He owes him an answer.

"... I don't know." He gives him the truth. He doesn't know how many more plans it'll take, doesn't have a date he can give that marks the end of the war.

"But," he continues, "I refuse to believe we won't achieve peace. I refuse to think for one second that what we're working towards, the end of the fighting, of divisions, of strife, cannot be achieved."

It's quiet. They're still. Claude thinks he's said the wrong thing...

… Something wet is falling on his shoulder. Dimitri is shaking harder.

The shift to tuck his head into the crook of Claude's neck is instant. He kisses his temple, kisses his hair, grips tight as muffled sobs wrack his core.

For some, it truly _never_ gets easier. For some, every life lost is a gash to the soul, another sin to carry, a burden that breaks bones. If Claude has learned anything from trying to understand Dimitri, it's that his heart was blown wide open long ago. His huge, beating heart has felt more pain than it can manage, and the more they advance, the more the pains grow.

So he holds him. He holds him like that can heal every wound he has. He holds him like he can keep him together, because that's what he wants.

He holds him for his own sake and wishes that he, too, could cry for their loss.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well~ I'm running late on this prompt, but I'd actually had this fic written for a while now. Funny how life works sometimes.
> 
> I plan on finishing quite a few more fics that I've started based on the DMCL week prompts, so look forward to those I guess. Anyway, thank you for reading.


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